


3 Almost Kisses

by MadeOfStardustAndOreos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Deathly Hallows, F/M, First Kiss, Hermione POV, Ron and Hermione w/o Harry, Ron being awkward, Ron pov, Summer, Summer before 7th year, almost kisses, hermione granger - Freeform, romione, ron weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeOfStardustAndOreos/pseuds/MadeOfStardustAndOreos
Summary: Ron and Hermione are finally alone together without Harry before he arrives for Bill's wedding. With nothing to do, and plenty of awkward romantic tension, what could go wrong?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, hope you enjoy, all characters owned by JK Rowling

“RONNNN! BREAKFAST’S READY!!” the door slammed open, Ginny leaning on the doorknob with a smirk.

Ron scrambled to cover himself with the blankets; it might’ve been Ginny, but you didn’t grow up with the twins without learning some defensive strategies. And lately, Ginny had been acting more like a third twin than his kind and loving sister. “Ginny! Shut the bloody door!” he shouted, gesturing wildly at the door.

  
She grinned once more and left, but the door remained open as her giggles echoed down the stairs. He fumbled around, trying to find his wand to shut the door. Remembering dropping it on the floor in his exhaustion last night, he leaned over the side of his bed. Wow, he really needed to clean under his bed. Dust mites, old chocolate frog cards, random t-shirts and lonely socks, but among them, his wand. He reached for it just as the door creaked.

  
“Ron?” He whipped his head to the door, Hermione glowing in the light from the hallway.

“Hermione!” he shouted, just as he lost his balance and tumbled out of the bed with a loud thud. He looked back up to Hermione from the floor, his head smashed against his dresser, a foot still on the bed, the other at an awkward angle next to his night stand. “What are you doing here!?” he asked, too surprised to see her to think about moving from his position.

  
He expected her to laugh, or make fun of him for that wild display, but she just stood and stared, a blank expression where one full of life and curiosity usually stood. Shifting to a somewhat seated position, he asked again, “Hermione?” A beat and then she was crying, “Ron…” she whispered. Scrambling up from the floor, he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring his lack of a shirt and the overpowering smell of her bushy hair.

  
“Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked, trying desperately to remember what the book said to do when a girl was crying. Wasn’t there something about petting her reassuringly? He awkwardly patted her shoulder, “Why don’t you sit down?” Her tears escalated into a full-blown meltdown, and he had the good sense to shut the door as he led her toward his bed.

  
His bed was a mess, but Hermione didn’t even notice, hiccuping in between breaths as she sat down. Ron sat at her side, draping an arm over her shoulders. He had no idea what to do. “Hermione, just… tell me what’s wrong. Is it Harry? Is it your book? Did Crookshanks finally meet his fate?” She let out a laugh, but shook her head and continued to bawl her eyes out.

  
Her letters were scattered on his nightstand, and Ron tried to remember what she said that might’ve triggered this onslaught of tears and an unexpected arrival. “Was it your parents?” She didn’t answer, instead tucking herself into his chest. Her parents then, he thought, wrapping his other arm around her.

  
Ron felt his cheeks go pink. He and Hermione had hugged before, but not like this. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, heat bloomed in his chest, and he couldn’t help but take tentative breaths of her hair. It was softer than he thought, and he got distracted by her fine curls, losing a hand inside their mess. She didn’t object to the touching, making Ron’s heart beat to the drum of possibility. There was no denying he fancied her now, maybe even more… but he didn’t let himself get that far. She was leagues ahead of him, braver, smarter, the sidekick Harry deserved. If it were up to him, she deserved to be the hero, but thoughts of all that Harry had been through chased that notion away. Hermione deserved the world, not the dumpy coward he was. It wasn’t worth it to get his hopes up.

  
It took another ten minutes and a few words from Ron, but finally Hermione calmed down enough to wipe her eyes and move away from Ron. Internally he despaired at the loss of contact, but that didn’t matter right now. Hermione did. “What happened Hermione?”  
She didn’t look at him, just stared at the floor in sorrow. She took a deep breath, “I sent them away. To safety. Australia. They don’t remember me, they don’t have a daughter, and they’re going to start their new life there. Wendell and Monica Wilkins.”

  
Well… he wasn’t expecting that. “You used a memory charm?”

  
“Yes,” she whispered, twiddling her wand between her fingers in her lap. “I’m a terrible daughter.”  
Ron jerked his head toward her, “What! No you’re not! Why would you say such a thing?”

  
She looked at him then, her red eyes wide with anger and distress, “Because Ron! I didn’t give them a choice! I’m never home, I never tell them anything, and worst of all, I thank them by sending them away and making them forget everything they ever knew!” Tears started to prick at the corners of her eyes again.  
“Hey, hey, you were protecting them. Once this is all over, they’ll understand, they won’t be mad at you. And how could they ever be mad at a daughter who gets perfect grades, is top of her class and has saved her friends’ butts loads of times?”

  
She turned away, “You don’t know that.”

  
He sighed, “I don’t. But I do know that you won’t have to suffer alone, and because of you, they won’t have to suffer at all.”

  
Mustering up all the Gryffindor courage he could, he reached for her hand, folding it between his fingers, “You’ve always got me and Harry, Hermione. Don’t forget.”

  
He meant it as a temporary gesture of friendship, but she held tight to his hand. Forget butterflies, there was a swarm of angry bees in his stomach. His face probably matched his hair, meanwhile Hermione looked largely unaffected. Bugger, he needed to get this under control.  
Just like her hair, her skin was soft, so different than his own: calloused and rough from quidditch matches and general rough-housing.

  
“Thank you, Ron.” She looked up at him again, her eyes soft, her lips slightly curved. Crap, why was he looking at her lips? They were close, unbearably close. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, sure that his face had somehow gotten even redder. He was trying so hard to keep focus on her eyes, that he didn’t miss the almost imperceptible glance she made towards his own lips.

  
Swallowing deeply, gripping her soft hand in his own sweaty one, breathing hard, Ron took the only step he knew to take and leaned in. He was a Gryffindor after all, and a Gryffindor didn’t shy away from kissing the girl he’d been crushing on for four years when this was probably the only chance he’d ever get. Unbelievably, she leaned in too, and they were centimeters apart when fate decided to intervene.

  
The door slammed open again, Ron leapt backward from Hermione, who scrambled in the opposite direction. “Hermione dear,” his mum said, opening the door wider, “Did you want anything for breakfast? Ron’s being a bum and hasn’t eaten yet either.” She looked between them, and Ron was sure she knew everything that just happened. His stupid red face probably gave everything away.

  
“Mum! You can’t just barge in like that!” he sputtered, at the same time that Hermione said, “That’d be lovely, Mrs. Weasley, thank you.”

  
She smiled lovingly, “Of course I can dearie, I’m your mother.” She swung the door shut, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll cook you some eggs! Hurry down before they get cold, and put on a shirt, Ronald, it’s indecent.”

  
And then it was just the two of them again, an awkward silence heavy in between them. Ron got up, searching his drawers for a shirt that didn’t smell. He pulled it over his head and turned back toward Hermione, who still hadn’t moved.

  
“Right… Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, not forgetting her traumatic morning.

  
She sighed, shifting off his covers into a standing position. “I will be. Thank you, again… for… you know.” Her brown eyes seemed larger than before, and Ron wanted to get lost in them again, but that had proven to be dangerous.

  
“Of course. That’s what friends are for…” he trailed off, hating how much that sentence hurt. She smiled warmly, turning to head downstairs. Friends don’t kiss each other, or try to kiss each other, he reminded himself. But if what just happened was any indication, friends just didn’t cover it anymore.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after Hermione's arrival and before Harry's, Hermione and Ron finally get a chance to just talk and hang out. Maybe do a little more than just talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! All characters owned by J. K. Rowling obviously

Hermione was slowly getting over the terrible deed she’d done her parents. Ron had been so supportive, offering loads of logic and reasoning that she usually supplied herself, but it was difficult when love was a part of the equation. And didn’t she know it. 

She had tried fruitlessly for years to logic her crush on Ron out of her heart, to no avail. It was just a phase, they spent too much time together, she was mistaking friendship for feelings. But even those logical explanations could be defeated with logic: a phase didn’t last four years, she spent just as much time with Harry, and all Harry could ever be was a friend. And then her brain cycled to reasons why she shouldn’t fancy him: they were best friends, he was lazy and loud and sometimes stupid, a relationship with him could only end in failure, they had Harry to think about, but most of all, he was Ron, for crying out loud. And there was no chance that he’d ever like her in the same way.

But then he could be so kind, so fiercely protective of his friends, and there was a bravery to him that only Hermione ever saw. There was no denying she fancied him… but it couldn’t have come at a worse time. 

Miffed at herself for letting her thoughts spiral again, she groaned and rolled out of the camp bed in Ginny’s room. Ginny was still asleep, her snores muffled by her pillow. Careful to remain quiet, Hermione found her clothes for the day and began to strip off her pyjamas. She was halfway into jean shorts, still missing a shirt when the door creaked open. “Hermione?” Ron whispered, failing to consider what might be on the other side. She eeped, but that didn’t stop him from continuing to open the door.

“Ron!” she whisper-shouted, reaching for her shirt on the bed to cover herself. Too late, his eyes locked onto hers as she turned back toward him, holding up the shirt a moment after it was needed. 

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, his cheeks reddening to match his hair before the door was even shut. Hermione just stared at the retreating door, flabbergasted at what had just happened. Ron just saw her in a bra. Did he even know what a bra was? He must’ve, with Lavender. Gross, don’t think about that. More reasons to not fancy Ron: he’d dated a bimbo, and he didn’t know how to knock. 

Shaking her scattered thoughts from her brain, Hermione continued getting dressed. Her cheeks must match Ron’s now, but she had to calm down before she faced this nightmare of an experience. Great, now Ron was going to be messed up for the rest of the day. An embarrassed, apologetic Ron wasn’t something Hermione was used to. He was never embarrassed when he was supposed to be, never said sorry when he was supposed to, and certainly didn’t experience both at the same time. It was too much for his teaspoon-sized heart, Hermione thought, thinking back to her brilliant burn from fourth year. He’d deserved that burn. 

Bracing herself, Hermione opened the door, fully clothed, to Ron, also fully clothed, but still red in the face and physically wincing. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to walk in on you… like that.” 

Choosing to pretend like it never happened, Hermione shrugged it off, “It’s okay, Ronald, just remember to knock.” She thrust her nose up in the air like usual and headed toward the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause normally you’d be… livid, or at least upset,” he said cautiously. 

They’d gotten out of bed early, Mrs. Weasley nowhere to be seen and the kitchen untouched. There was a reason neither of them were sleeping well, but it wasn’t something Hermione liked to dwell on. “But I’m not, Ron, so get over it,” she said. 

He plopped down at the table, magicking three muffins from the counter, two for him and one for Hermione. “Okay…” He scarfed down the muffin in record time, typical Ron, but still looked pensive. She needed to settle this, now. They ate the muffins in silence, Hermione mulling over the right words. 

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Ron knew she fancied him, right? Maybe she could just… drop a hint. A careful hint. One that would hopefully go over his tall head. 

She sighed, “I am upset, but… only because those weren’t the circumstances I was expecting for you to first see me in my bra.” She shoved the rest of her muffin in her mouth, avoiding eye contact. 

Ron didn’t move, the muffin frozen halfway between his mouth and the table. Was that too much? Chewing quickly she swallowed and continued, “I mean- when we leave with Harry, we don’t know the… circumstances we’ll be in. You know? We could be living in a tent for months on end! Or in a tiny cottage… Hope not, but you know… you just never know.” She finished rambling. This was a bad idea, a really bad idea. 

He was still slack-jawed. “Right, of course. I know exactly what you mean,” he smiled slightly, the muffin finally reaching his mouth. She hesitated, looking up into his blue eyes. There was a surprising certainty to them, like he did know what she meant. Before she could look any further, he rose from the table, “So, what’d you want to do today? Don’t say reading you do that every other day.” She snickered, and suddenly they were back to their usual Hermione-Ron dynamic. Awkward, but warm and familiar. 

* * * 

They’d decided on going for a walk, which wasn’t very exciting, but sometimes mundanity was relaxing after spending so much time enraptured in the wizarding world. Hermione still had to remind herself that it wasn’t all a dream and she was actually a witch, magic was real and so were these friends she’d made. She shuddered at childhood memories of her imaginary friends. Unfortunately for her parents, Hermione’s friends weren’t so imaginary at all. It wasn’t so hard to believe there was an actual, living friend beside her when there was magic on her side. But you have real friends now, Hermione had to remind herself. 

Their walk had taken them around the entire property, or at least to where the magic border was put in place. It was good to escape the house for a change and just relax. There wouldn’t be many more chances like this as the wedding grew closer. And Harry. 

Unsurprisingly, there was lots to talk about. The impending war, horcruxes, Snape, Dumbledore, everything they’d been through that their almost-year-long feud prevented them from discussing. “Do you think Malfoy is joining you-know-who, now?” Ron asked, as they went for their second turn around the pond. 

Hermione started, “I think he already has, Ronald. He tried to kill Dumbledore remember?”

“No, I mean- the dark mark. Becoming a Death Eater. All that.”

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a loud shout from the house. “HERMIONE! RON! STOP HIDING AND COME HELP YOUR MOTHER!” Mrs. Weasley’s bellows echoed over the fields between them. Magical intervention, obviously. Ron turned to Hermione, panicked. While their walk was just meant to be a walk, as the day stretched on its use had turned to avoiding the inevitable wedding prep. They were lucky they’d been able to evade it for this long. Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t wait much longer, though.

“What do we do?!” Hermione asked, unable to hold back a smile. Their predicament was so normal, compared to what they usually went through. 

Ron grabbed her hand and took off at a fast pace, ducking down so his ginger head couldn’t be spotted between the tall grasses. “Come on, if we hide in Dad’s shed she’ll never find us. Mum hates that shed.”

Her heartbeat pounded loudly as they ran, obviously because of exertion, not Ron holding her hand or anything. That wasn’t something to get worked up about. 

“RONALD! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE!” Mrs. Weasley’s shouts grew louder as they approached the house, Hermione’s hand still folded between Ron’s. Finally they were close enough to see Mrs. Wealsey, hands on her hips, a spoon clutched in her left. 

Ducked behind some bushes, Mrs. Weasley couldn’t see them, but if they went any further their position would be compromised. Ron waited until her back was turned then yanked Hermione toward the backyard. She yelped, throwing a hand up to cover the noise too late. They were both giggling by the time they reached the shed. 

After shoving the door shut and casting muffliato under his breath, Ron burst into laughter, still tightly holding Hermione’s hand. That fact couldn’t escape her. She laughed too. It was good to just be a teenager again, avoiding her boyfriend- friend’s mother. The implications of their wound hands caught up to Ron, and he let go, a small thread of disappointment weedling its way into Hermione’s heart. Their laughter died down, and Hermione forced herself to look away from Ron. Wouldn’t want him to get any ideas. 

The shed was a mess of muggle machinery and tools. Mr. Weasley’s collection had grown beyond the capacity of the shelves and tables and spilled onto the floor. Ron shoved some old telephones out of the way and made space for himself and Hermione on one of the tables. She hopped up, while he sat down. At least this sort of amended their height difference. Better for kissing. 

No! No kissing! 

Maybe she could do wandless, spell-less magic, though, because when Ron looked down at her, his eyes kept jumping to her lips. “Now what?” he asked quietly. Was she imagining this? Her and Ron, essentially locked in a shed, no Harry, no distractions, and craziest of all, Ron maybe wanting to kiss her. They’d been so close a few days ago, when she’d arrived a mess of nerves and worry. 

His blue eyes locked onto hers and they stayed like that, their pinkies finding each other on the table between them. Ron was almost gaping at her, his mouth slightly open in a dopey grin. Hermione unintentionally licked her lips. 

“I- I don’t know…” Hermione trailed off, lost in his eyes. Was this the moment? They both leaned forward, instinctively tilting their heads at opposite angles. 

“You always know, Hermione,” Ron whispered, their noses nearly touching now. 

BANG, the shed door was thrown wide as Mrs. Weasley barged in. Ron nearly fell off the table in surprise. Another kiss thwarted by Ron’s mother, Hermione thought. 

“You really thought you could escape by hiding in your father’s shed?! As if I didn’t raise seven children… Get to the house, you two. There is work to do!” Mrs. Weasley left, shaking her head. 

“We’ll get her next time,” Ron smiled fondly, offering a hand for Hermione to hop down from the table. Next time like next-time-we-evade-Mrs.Weasley or next time like next-time-we-almost kiss-and-are interrupted-by-your-Mum? Hermione decided not to dwell on it and took Ron’s hand. 

Next time.


End file.
